Breathe
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: It's 2 A.M. and Ilsa just wants to breathe again. Update really quick-like this story is turning out to be longer than I originally anticipated, so I'll keep it as complete but add to it as inspiration strikes!
1. Breathe

She doesn't know when it all started. The nightmares, insomnia, thinking about him. It could have been after he saved her life, after he came to her rescue when Hector Lopez attacked her. Or maybe it was everything that had happened. Either way, she doesn't know when it started. The nightmares were horrible and she often found herself getting out of bed and trying to get some work done just to avoid going back to sleep. Sometimes, she didn't sleep at all. She went to bed but got up a few hours later after tossing and turning. It was insomnia, stress induced insomnia her doctor had said. He hadn't questioned why she was stressed or who could be the reason she's stressed. Some nights, she doesn't sleep because he's invading her thoughts, because she can't get him out of her head.

Sometimes, it felt like she was drowning in it all. Drowning in the nightmares, the insomnia, the memories and the thoughts of him. Of his blue eyes, his quirky grin that always held a hint of mischief, the way he had held her that night on her kitchen floor. Only letting her go when she felt she could move again-or rather when he felt she could move again. Sometimes it felt like she was trapped underwater with no way to the surface, with no way to get oxygen.

Tonight though, she's going to change that. She'll get in her car and drive to his place. To her the office and the elevator ride will seem longer than it ever has before but that's okay because she'll use it to think. To think about why she really came here. She knows he's up because it's very rare he's ever asleep. When he does sleep, it's only because he's pushed his body as far as it can go and he simply can't go any farther. She didn't know why, but she had never once come in the office to find him asleep. He was always up doing something-not to say she didn't appreciate the mountain of paperwork being reduced by half, but she had to wonder if the man ever slept.

The doors open with a swish and she can't help but wonder if maybe she should just go back home. Then he comes down the stairs, in a pair of gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, looking completely adorable and as if he had been waiting for her. His hair isn't a mess and his eyes aren't sleep softened or bleary. He's just there, at two in the morning, as if he had been waiting for her, knowing that she would show up. As she stares at him, she knows why she's here. She knows why she's spent so many nights thinking about him.

"What's wrong?"

As she stares into his ocean water eyes, she can't find the right words to express it but the worlds fall off of her lips before she can stop them, "I just want to breathe again."

He doesn't ask questions. He doesn't have too. He knows what it means, he's been there before. That nagging feeling that you're about to drown in your own life. The feeling you get when you're gasping for air that can only be found by breaking the surface. The constricting feeling of your lungs screaming for air. He hated that feeling and so did she but how was he going to help her?

"C'mon in."

His simple invitation as he walks up the stairs, with her following close behind, she starts to realize why she was here. She wasn't here because she couldn't sleep-the nightmares were the reason for that, a problem he couldn't fix.

He was the oxygen her lungs craved.

He was the air above the surface of the bottomless ocean that was her life. He helped her break the surface, helped her breath again, despite how impossible breathing seemed. When she was around him, she could breath again. Breath the oxygen, her lungs had long ago been deprived of.

"What's the matter?"

The question is simple and if it were anyone else, she probably wouldn't know the answer, but this is different. He's different. When he asks a question, there's never a guessing game to play with which answer he wants to hear. All he wants is the truth and the truth is, she's drowning.

"I'm drowning-or at least that's what it seems like." She told him, averting her brown eyes as she sat down on the bed. "I feel like I can't get enough oxygen. Like I don't have enough air to survive."

He doesn't say anything, doesn't judge her or criticize her for getting herself caught up in the mess and letting it take over her life. He doesn't say anything, he just sits down on the bed, wraps his arm around her and tugs her into him.

And that's all she needs, someone to hold her, someone to make the pain go away. The fiery scent of his cologne and the freshness of his cotton t-shirt blend deliciously into an oddly soothing combination. His steady heart-beat, fiery and fresh scent and steady hand rubbing her back and shoulders are making it hard for her to keep her eyes open. Her eyes are red, watery and burning with the desire to close and let unconsciousness take over for a little while. She stays in his arms, her eyes steadily closing as she loses the battle to keep them open.

She falls asleep, breathing in the delicious scent of her oxygen.

Of the only man who could make that pesky drowning feeling go away and offer her some relief from the constricting feeling in her lungs-the feeling you might get when you can't breath.

He's her oxygen.

It's 2 A.M. and she's finally breathing again.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, so I was in a weird mood...I had one of those days where I just felt like I was drowning in everything...nothing was going right, I had a ton of schoolwork and it didn't seem to be getting any better, and plus I had the word 'drowning' in my head. I wanted to write ChanceIlsa without crashing head-first into the couple that may or may not happen! So anyway, here it is :)**


	2. Relax

His fingers were tangled in something that was soft, silky and unless his nose was deceiving him, whatever it was smelled of vanilla. He carefully opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh morning sunlight as he looked down at whatever it was his fingers were tangled in. He was met with a face full of the same silky blackness that his hand was tangled in. Now he was absolutely positive that it was vanilla he could smell emanating from the blackness of, what his foggy, sleepy mind had determined was hair. He pulled his hand from the hair and pulled it back until he revealed a face.

"Ilsa?" He whispered looking down at the peaceful face of his benefactor.

Her breathing was peaceful, her eyes were closed and she looked about as close to an angel as he figured he was ever going to get. She had shown up at 2 A.M. with that nagging feeling that she was drowning in her own life. He slid his hand out of her hair and rubbed her shoulders. He could feel the knotted muscles relaxing under his fingers as he lazily kneaded her shoulders.

"Hmmm," Ilsa moaned tiredly as she blinked against the light. "Oh my,"

He laughed slightly as he kneaded her shoulders, working the tense knots out of the muscles. She visibly relaxed and in the soft sunlight streaming through the window, he could see the tired lines etched in her face, the dark circles under her eyes and the red, tired eyes. She hadn't been sleeping.

"You haven't been sleeping," Chance noted as he continued working her shoulders, "Why?"

"Life." Ilsa told him quietly, averting her eyes. "I've been so busy and when I do try to sleep, I have nightmares."

"About what?" Chance asked her softly, forcing her to look at him. Averting her eyes seemed to be her favorite defense mechanism and usually it worked but not this time. "Hector Lopez?"

Ilsa averted her eyes, staring at the soft cotton of his t-shirt. That told him all that he needed to know. Hector Lopez attacking her hadn't just hurt her physically. Emotionally, she wasn't as strong as she'd like people to believe.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Chance asked her, his hand pausing on her back as he waited for the answer.

"Nightmares. You can't fix those, Chance." Ilsa told him quietly, "You can do a lot of things but getting rid of nightmares isn't one of them."

"Ilsa, this is more than just nightmares." He told her as he readjusted so that he was on his side, propped up on his elbow and she was laying on her back.

"No..it's just nightmares...they'll go away!" Ilsa shook her head insistantly.

"Nightmares don't just go away, Ilsa." Chance shook his head, "They aren't memories. You can't just stop them whenever you don't like it."

"Well then, what do I have to do?" Ilsa asked him quietly, playing with his t-shirt. "I can't just wake up."

It was true, she couldn't just wake up. They gripped her, terrfied her to the point she was paralyzed and unable to move much less open her eyes. It made her think about the aftermath if she hadn't of been able to kill Hector Lopez before he could kill her. What if Chance hadn't been able to get there in time to save her? What if Hector had gotten the gun instead of her? The what ifs were driving her crazy.

"I don't know," Chance whispered, his mind conjuring up a thousand different ways to do it but not one of them a guaranteed method. "I don't know."

She settled against him, in no hurry to get out of bed-or out of his arms, rather. She felt safe with him. She felt safe tucked in his bed, one arm slung over her waist as if it was an everyday occurence. It felt natural and safe to have his arm there, resting comfortably on her stomach. She'd rather have him protecting her than all of the bodyguards Marshall's money would allow her to hire. He was the best protector. He was the only one who could make her feel safe with one touch.

"What's going on, Ilsa?" Chance asked her softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her hip.

"After everything with Hector Lopez and my husband's possible affair..I feel like I can't breath. Like my life is swallowing me whole." Ilsa admitted quietly, blinking away the tears stinging her eyes.

"It's easy to feel like that sometimes." Chance nodded, "Why don't you take a few days off? Rest, relax and come back to work when you're ready."

"No, work keeps me sane." Ilsa shook her head.

"No. Work is what caused this." Chance told her, brushing her hair away from her face. "Ilsa, you need to take some time off, rest. Get all of this stuff off your mind before you try working. You've got to much on your plate, it's driving you crazy."

"I don't-" Ilsa tried to protest but he cut her off.

"Ilsa, please, take some time off?" Chance whispered, "For me?"

His blue eyes were especially bright and if she had any will-power at all, it dissipated as soon as her eyes met the bright baby blue eyes staring at her, begging her to take some time for herself and relax. He was genuinely worried about her and concerned for her health.

"Okay," Ilsa agreeted quietly.

"Good," Chance nodded as he moved his hand back down to her hip, "You need it."

She did. She needed some time off, some time to gather her thoughts, and come to terms with everything that had happened. She needed time to come to terms with her attack and with her husband's possible affair that she hadn't known about. She needed a vacation to get herself straightened out and relaxed before she tried to return to work.


	3. Bubbles

The sound of water gushing out of the faucet filled the bathroom as it filled her luxurious over-sized bathtub with hot, steamy water. The soft scent of orchids filled the room as she poured the soft pink liquid bubble bath in the stream of running water. She watched as the bathtub filled with bubbles and the thick white foam came dangerously close to spilling over the edge of the bathtub. After she was finished running her bath, she slipped out of the robe and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. Slipping into the hot bubble bath, she sighed as she sank down into the bathtub and let the thick white orchid scented foam cover her. Her black curls were thrown up in a couple of bobby pins and her face was completely make-up free.

She let her eyes close and her mind drift off. The recollection of everything that had happened since she had started working with Christopher Chance lingered as she let the hot water relax her tired muscles. It was only when she opened her eyes to discover the dispersion of bubbles and the cooler temperature of the water did she realize that she must have fallen asleep. She stood up and carefully climbed out of the bathtub before pulling the drain plug and letting the water drain out of the bathtub.

She dried off and dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a loose, silky camisole before padding downstairs to answer the door. She pulled the door open to reveal Christopher Chance holding a bag of food from her favorite Italian restaurant.

"I came to check on you," He told her quietly, holding up the bag. "I thought you might want some lunch."

"Why don't you come in?" Ilsa smiled as she opened the door and let him come in the house.

As he walked into the house, he caught a glance of her out of the corner of his eye. She was more relaxed than he had ever seen her and the scent of orchids wafting from her general direction was making it hard for him to keep his mouth to himself.

"You look more relaxed than you did this morning," He commented, unconsciously letting his gaze drift to the cleavage baring neckline of her camisole.

"I took a long bath, I feel much better." Ilsa smiled as she led him into the kitchen and gathered some plates, silverware, and glasses. "How'd you get away?"

"Guerrero's doing something, the legality of which is probably questionable but it'll keep him busy for most of the day. Winston took Ames to her favorite restaurant for her birthday and then he was going to take her to see Brody and I had nothing to do." Chance laughed, "He wasn't up for questioning me this morning."

Ilsa laughed, "I've learned it's best to just go along with Guerrero, regardless of the legality issue. I just pay him on time and stay out of his way."

"Good girl," Chance laughed as she helped herself to some spaghetti. "You caught on quick."

"I know that he has his son to worry about and I don't want to bother him if what he's doing is for the safety of his son." Ilsa explained softly, "Guerrero-he has interesting methods, but his son is the reason why he does it and that's one of the best reasons I can see for why he does what he does."

"How are you doing?" Chance asked her as he broke off a piece of garlic bread.

"Better." Ilsa nodded as she twirled tomato covered noodles onto her fork. She popped the noodles in her mouth, she averted her eyes elsewhere, refusing to meet his gaze. She felt a little silly for being so shy around him after last night even after knowing Chance for a while. "I feel a little silly."

"About last night?" Chance asked her as he wiped spaghetti sauce from his mouth.

"How'd you know?" Ilsa asked him softly, her eyes darting up to meet his.

"You wouldn't look at me." Chance smiled softly, a hint of affection hidden underneath the playful teasing. "Ilsa, you haven't slept in God knows how long, you're having nightmares and all of that has you on edge."

"Maybe I should consider sleeping pills." Ilsa mumbled as she broke off a piece of garlic bread. "Get some sleep, get my nerves under control."

"You need a few hours at least, take the edge off." Chance told her, as he poured them both more of the wine that Ilsa had retrieved before they settled in for lunch.

"How can I sleep? I have nightmares." Ilsa told him, taking a sip of the smooth red liquid in the glass.

"You slept fine with me," Chance pointed out, shrugging casually. "So I'll stay with you and see if that'll help you get a few hours of sleep."

"I have no choice but to agree to this do I?" Ilsa smiled as she picked up her wine glass.

"No choice what so ever." Chance shook his head, "If it works, we'll figure out something."

"Let's go to your place for this little experiment. I think my apartment might be part of the problem." Ilsa told him, blushing a light, adorably flattering shade of red.

An hour later, they were in his car on their way back to the office to see if their "experiment" as Ilsa had called it would work. She could feel herself dozing off as he drove, the few hours of sleep she had gotten in his bed and the few minutes she had fallen asleep in the bathtub were not enough for a woman who had been surviving on what little nightmare free sleep she could catch between working and going crazy with insomnia.

xxx

_Yea, I realize I forgot to post an author's note with the last one but let me just say this...Christopher Chance does not belong to me...if he did, well let's just say his shirt would come off a lot more than it did! _


	4. Sleep

Steady, even breathing, eyes closed peacefully and body fully relaxed under the covers of the bed, sunk into the mattress as far as physically possible. All physical indicators of sleep. Ilsa Pucci had achieved all three and was currently tucked safely under the covers his bed, enjoying the kind of sleep that had alluded her for several days. She had been that way for well over four hours and so far showed no signs of nightmares or insomnia-then again, who knows when she had enjoyed a full night of sound sleeping, so staying awake was probably more of a challenge than fighting insomnia was at this point.

There was something about the woman that kicked his protective instinct into over-drive. She was naivè in a way that made him want to keep her from the outside world. Keep her to himself, keep that naivety that was incredibly endearing. To know that taking a human life, even one such as Hector Lopez, was giving her nightmares was terrifying him. She was losing that naivè understanding of the world, of the way he operated. He needed her to keep that. Needed her to see him for the protector that he was, not the assassin that he used to be, not the part of him that took a human life without second thought as she had tried to do.

The more he thought about the woman next to him, the less interesting the book he was reading became. Ilsa Pucci was more than just an impressive woman. She was sexy and there were so many things about her that were sultry. Her wide brown eyes, dark, glossy curls and distinct, heavy British accent all made her extremely sultry. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her chest rising and falling in a steady, uninterrupted rhythm, shoulders slumped downward, arms crossed over stomach and fingers curled around the edge of the blankets. The mattress conformed to the soft curves of her body and her head rested comfortably on a stack of pillows, hair splayed out around her.

Idly winding one of the glossy black curls around his finger and letting it go, he watched it spring back into place. She sighed as she rolled over and burrowed deeper into his bed, arms now tucked into the blanket and her face now comfortably buried in amongst the pillows.

"Stop watching me," A sleepy, muffled mumble came from the pillow. "I can feel you watching me."

He laughed as he set the book down and rolled over to face her, "Feel better?"

She tossed the covers off and looked up at him with glassy, sleepy eyes. "Get back to me in eight hours."

Chance laughed as he stood up and pulled the covers completely off, revealing Ilsa's slender frame curled up into a little tiny ball. "Up,"

"Why?"

"Unless you want to spend another night awake, get up." Chance laughed, "You've been asleep for four hours, anymore and you'll wake up around the time normal people are going to bed."

Ilsa grumbled under her breath as she got out of bed and started down the stairs, Chance following behind. He watched her reach back and shake the tangles out of her hair with her hand, the silky curls slipping between her fingers easily.

"Any nightmares?" Chance asked her as they walked down the stairs.

"No," She shook her head, furrowing her brow as if she was trying to remember. "None that I can recall."

"Good," Chance nodded as he led her into the kitchen. "Now, expand on last night. What happened?"

"I have a ton of work to do for the charity, Connie, determined to get me away from this place is trying to swamp me with work on the charity. I have work to do around here which is adding up to be even more than the charity. Then last night all I could think about was Hector Lopez's attack, Marshall's death and that woman who he may or may not have had an affair with." Ilsa explained, looking down at her hands. "I just felt like I was drowning and like I had no control of my life anymore."

"You're not drowning, Ilse." Chance told her, grabbing her arms as he turned to face her. "You're just exhausted. Between everything that's happened and the amount of paperwork that comes with it, you're over-worked, tired and in need of a break."

"I can't sleep at my apartment though." Ilsa pointed out, "Nightmares, remember?"

"So stay with me," Chance told her, "I have plenty of room, you need sleep and we're already comfortable in the same bed together. Nothing will happen, you can spend the weekend catching up on sleep than on Monday, you can go back to your mountains of paperwork."

A weekend spent in Chance's bed. That was one of the more deliciously wonderful thoughts that had ever occurred to her. Two days spent under the covers, sinking into his mattress, breathing in his delicious scent and catching up on some much needed sleep, possibly in his arms. No thought was necessary.

"Okay."

xxxx

**This story has a point, I promise. Chance is saving Ilsa. She's tired, over-worked and in desperate need of some well-deserved and dearly missed sleep, and she's about to drown in her own life. This is about Chance pulling her back to the surface, providing her with that oxygen that she needs. He's saving her from the emotional meltdown she's on the brink of. **


	5. Sister

In hindsight, he really should have seen this coming. She was exhausted and was bound to lose it sometime. She hadn't been sleeping and the four hour nap in his bed hadn't done much good, considering how long it had been since she had slept through the night. That's why he had tried to stop Ames from questioning Ilsa. It wasn't her fault really, she was simply concerned and had inquired how she was doing. It had been a simple question that had obviously brought back bad memories for Ilsa, who had nearly burst into tears, brushed Ames off and dashed upstairs to his bedroom.

"Ilsa!" Chance yelled as he started after her, chasing her up the stairs and into his loft.

He found her curled up in a quivering little ball on his couch, sobbing into her knees. For the first time in his life, Christopher Chance thought he might actually cry himself. It was a mix of heart-breaking and something he couldn't quite place.

"Hey," Chance whispered as he sat down beside her,"What happened down there?"

"I can't handle it anymore," Ilsa sobbed, gasping for air. "I don't know what to do."

She was drowning. He was very familiar with that feeling and he imagined she was too. She was being pulled in a thousand different directions by her emotions, was being over-worked by her sister-in-law, who was more concerned with a charity than she was about Ilsa's feelings, and was exhausted on top of that. She felt as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders and she was being crushed under the weight of it. He moved closer to her and gently rubbed her back, unable to do much more.

"You let me take care of you." Chance told her, uncharacteristically tender. "You get some rest, catch up on sleep, let your emotions work themselves out."

"What about work?" Ilsa asked him quietly, calming down under his soothing hand. "Connie's got me loaded down with charity work."

"Yea, me and Connie are going to have a little chat about that later," Chance mumbled under his breath before raising it again so Ilsa could hear him. "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it. For right now, you worry about catching up on all of the sleep you've missed."

She nodded and looked over at him, "Thank you."

"No problem. Now, go get in bed." Chance ordered, pointing to the bed. "You need all the sleep you can get."

He watched as she padded over to the bed and crawled in, sinking into the mattress. She fell asleep almost instantly. He watched her sleep for a few minutes before making his way downstairs to give her sister-in-law a call.

xxx

"Connie Pucci,"

"Connie, this is Christopher Chance, I need to speak with you about Ilsa."

"Oh, what about her?"

"Listen," Chance started hesitantly, "You need to back off of Ilsa for a few days."

"Has something happened? Oh! I knew working there wasn't safe." Connie grumbled over the phone.

"Yea something happened, her sister-in-law, who she thought cared, piled so much work on her, she hasn't been sleeping." Chance snapped angrily, "She's exhausted and you haven't helped."

"What?" Connie questioned indignantly.

"Yea, that charity that you run together, you've piled paperwork on her for that charity that you could've handled yourself." Chance told her, "Ilsa's so exhausted she slept for four hours and when she was awake, she could barely hold her head up."

"What if it's the stress she must suffer in that place?" Connie snapped angrily. "I mean really, did you have to dig up all that stuff on Marshall?"

"Ilsa wanted to know. I gave her the information she wanted. What happened beyond that was out of our hands." Chance defended.

"Yes, well I'll tell the board that Ilsa will be taking a couple of days to herself, do see that she is back to work by Monday." Connie informed him shortly. "No later."

"No promises." Chance snapped slamming the phone back on the receiver. "That woman could care less about Ilsa."

He stormed back up the stairs to check on Ilsa. Once he was sure she was sleeping peacefully in his bed, he made his way downstairs and looked around, surprised to find that everyone had already left. His phone call with Connie had been less than pleasant and he wasn't quite sure how Ilsa would take it-the woman could be lethal, especially if she lacked sleep. She was most definitely not one of those people who could function on less than the normal eight to nine hours of sleep a night.

The lack of genuine concern on Connie's part is what surprised him the most. At the opera, Connie had seemed caring and attentive as Ilsa's sister-in-law, but now it seemed as if Connie only had one thing on her mind and that was getting Ilsa out of his life.

"Sorry Connie, if I can protect her and keep her safe, I'm not letting her go." Chance muttered as he grabbed the laptop Ilsa had given him a week before this whole mess had gotten started. The laptop made it a lot easier to write those reports that she requested after each mission. He had to admit, those reports made it a lot easier to keep up with who they had protected and made it a lot easier to determine whether two cases overlapped.

As he sat down to type up the report, she had requested for the last mission, he checked the clock and did a quick mental calculation of how long she had been asleep. Two hours. He opened his laptop and started typing.

**xxx**

**Hi people, **

**So the reason for the major cliff-hanger type ending is because I needed to end this before it turned into a one-shot in and of itself which is where it was going. His fight with Connie was my way of releasing the anger that I've been feeling with my own sister lately. She has a temper and lately she's been losing it...anyway that's for me to deal with. Next chapter will be Chance and Ilsa dealing with their feelings. **

**I also have a super long one-shot in the works about Chance and Ilsa working out their issues and getting on the right path to a possible relationship. **

**Love you, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


	6. Cuddle

_Saturday Night, 10:15 P.M. _

"Chance?"

The soft, sleepy mumble of his benefactor made him look up from the laptop in front of him. His blue eyes found her heavy, sleep filled brown eyes. He could tell by the way her eyelids drooped that she was in no way ready to be out of bed yet. She still had loads of sleep to catch up on. Saving the report, he closed the laptop and stood up. He made his way over to her and picked her up, in much the same way a father would do his sleepy child when putting her to bed. She settled against easily and let him carry her back up the stairs. He tucked her back into bed and started to walk away when her hand grabbed his and pulled him back.

"Stay!" Ilsa whispered, pulling him back. "Please?"

Chance nodded and climbed into the bed, settling onto his back so that Ilsa could settle on his chest. Once they were both comfortable, he absently rubbed her back, letting his hand slip under the blue t-shirt he had given her to sleep in. Her golden brown skin was warm and smooth as silk under his rough, calloused hand. He was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable they were with each other, despite their "professional" differences.

The soft scent of vanilla, oranges and cinnamon was a perfect fit for the woman laying on his chest. She could be soft, sweet and warm like vanilla or tangy like an orange. Then there was cinnamon. Spicy, fiery and sultry. Never a more perfect fit for Ilsa than cinnamon. She was spicy and fiery in her ways, always determined to seek justice even if that meant adopting rather unconventional methods of doing so. She was also sultry. Everything about the woman screamed sultry. From her wide brown eyes that were a lot less innocent than they looked to her distinct British accented voice that was soft, sultry yet had that slight tang of a woman who wouldn't let people screw her over.

Nobody screwed with Ilsa Pucci, because one of two things would happen, either she would deal with them herself, which would inevitably lead to them signing a check for an obscene amount of money or she would pay Guerrero an obscene amount of money to "take care of them." She had learned right from the start that with the right amount of money, paid in cash, Guerrero would be more than happy to take certain people off of her hands and since then, she had learned to make good use of his particular services.

She was a strong woman-emotionally speaking. After Hector Lopez attacked her though, Chance watched as that strength deteriorated. The exact thing he was hoping to avoid. She had been forced to kill him and from then on, her strength that he, himself, had come to rely on deteroriated little by little. He had come to rely on the stability of having Ilsa's strength to fall back on but after Hector Lopez, he couldn't fall back on it. He barely had anything to fall back on. After Hector Lopez had come Connie, the opera and a tangled web of lies weaved by her husband. She had been left emotionally drained, tired and out of that had come nightmares about what had happened with Hector Lopez, her husband's possible affair and everything else that had happened.

Like fire and silk. Hot, passionate and burning like fire but at the time she could be as smooth and cool as silk. Somehow, the fire and silk woman had wormed her way into a part of his heart that had long been hidden by his Christopher Chance facade, and had taken up residence. She was quite comfortable and obviously had no intention of returning that part of his heart. She was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, immensely beautiful when she was happy, child-like and sweetly innocent looking when she was sad and behind her strong facade, there was a determination. A determination to help him right his wrongs, correct his mistakes-or make up for them at least and to help him see his self the way other people saw him, to make him believe that nobody deserves to die was inclusive of himself and those around him.

She saw something in him that he didn't. She saw a strength, a will, a determination and beyond that, there was a creed. A set of standards and moral beliefs that he had abandoned as an assassin. Morals had no place in the assassin business. As Christopher Chance, the morals had crept back into his head and she knew that. She used it to her advantage, playing with his morals to convince him to do the right thing instead of doing it the messy way as he had done so many times before.

The more he thought about it-about her, about their relationship, about everything, the more he thought that maybe Harry was right. Maybe he wasn't in control when it came to Ilsa, maybe he did have feelings for his boss and maybe that could develop into something but would she want to?

Would she want to risk her life on a man who had at one time been paid to take lives? Would she risk her morals for him?

He doubted it.


	7. Seductive

_Sunday Morning, 8:10 A.M._

He was asleep by the time she woke up. Sleeping on the bed next to her, one arm slung casually cross her stomach, hand curling downward, fingers brushing the warm, bare skin of hip. The rough calloused hand was a completely different sensation. Marshall's hands had never been rough and work-hardened, never had callouses covering them as proof of the work he did every day. Marshall never had scars to prove that he saved people. Never had the emotional scars to prove that he been through something that most people never even dreamed of going through.

All Marshall had died with was ten years of business experience and a grieving wife. He didn't leave any great legacy behind like she knew the man beside her would. He would leave the legacy of a man who had done a lot of wrong in his life but had spent years trying to right all of his wrongs.

There were times when Ilsa seriously questioned her ability to get by without Christopher Chance. He always knew what she need-whether she needed someone who would listen to her, or kiss her back after a little too much rum was mixed into the equation.

When crap hit the fan, Marshall's could have been mistress emerged and revealed the truth and she had nearly taken off to London, he had been there. He had been her strength, a never-ending source of strength and comfort.

As she slipped out of bed to shower and change, she took one last look at the man sleeping in the bed. He was worth the six months of hell she had gone through to find him. He was worth the six months of bumpy helicopter rides, obscene amounts of money and the grumbling from her begrudging helicopter pilot. She wondered if he knew just how much she was willing to risk for him. She knew he was afraid that his past would scare people away.

He was a professional killer, that'd scare anybody who didn't know him. Anyone who thought he was anything less than the fiercest protector didn't know Christopher Chance. His past as assassin gave him an advantage. He was always one up on the threat, always one step ahead. He knew every strategy, every move that would get him one step ahead. He was fierce, determined and beneath that facade that he kept up, there was a man who had been broken by the death of someone he had obviously cared a lot about. He was broken from seeing all of the wrong he had done.

Would she risk her morals for him?

Without a second thought.

xxx

Christopher Chance didn't know that he had ever been more amused than he was at this moment. He had never known of a woman, who despite being five foot-eight inches tall without heels, could curl up into a tiny ball and still manage to only take up half of a cushion on a couch. With her knees pulled up to her chest, a book resting on the V-shape they formed, and her arms wrapped around them unmoving unless she turned the page, Ilsa Pucci looked like a much smaller woman than she already was. Add that to the fact that all she sported was his t-shirt, that swallowed her, and a pair of shorts that disappeared under the huge white t-shirt and Ilsa probably could have disappeared into the couch.

"Enjoying the book?" Chance chuckled as he let himself fall down on the couch beside her.

Ilsa looked up at him, her large brown eyes sparkling in the golden light of the table lamp beside her. For the first time since she had shown up at two in the morning, she looked relaxed and well-rested. The dark circles under her eyes were slowly disappearing and the tired lines were smoothing out. Her hair was still damp from her shower and the faint hint of his soap emanated from her body. As if that wasn't going to drive him out of his mind.

She hadn't brought her toiletries, as they had come back to his place in a haste so he had told her that she could just use his until she went home. As a result, the smell of his soap emanating from her was driving him absolutely crazy. The woman was already sultry, add his soap to the mix and well let's just say the cold water supply was quickly running out. He hadn't really paid all that much attention to the way his soap smelled but now, with the scent on her, he was considering buying a case of it-possibly a lifetime supply- and letting her stay with him more often.

"I have to tell you, Chance-" Ilsa grinned slyly as she closed the book, lowered her knees and twisted her body so that she was facing him. "-Your scent is really quite delicious."

He resisted the urge to growl and kiss her senseless at the sultry but innocent voice she was using. Her lips were curled in a sly grin as she stared at him through glittering eyes. The woman was seriously driving him out of his mind.

"Ilsa-" Chance growled quietly, his voice mingling with the soft, sultry hum of Ilsa as she moved closer to him. "-Ilsa,"

She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his. Chance groaned as her body molded to his perfectly. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands against her back. Her skin was still damp, even through the soft cotton of the t-shirt and the nerves between his fingers reacted sharply to the cool dampness of her black spirals as he buried his hand in her hair.

"Chance-" Ilsa whispered leaning closer until there was barely any distance between them. "I don't know what this is."

"Me neither." Chance told her softly, "I have no idea what this is."

"But I think I like it." Ilsa grinned, pressing her lips to his.

Chance groaned when he tasted his mint toothpaste on her breath. The woman smelled and tasted like him-now that was enough to make him need a cold shower and some looser pants. There was something about a sultry, seductive woman like Ilsa smelling like the clean, freshness of his soap that drove him crazy.

He may not have known what was going on between them. It may have been something fantastic and something they'd both enjoy or maybe it was nothing and they'd go back to normal on Monday when it was all over but for now, he was just going to enjoy it while it lasted, however long that may have been.

No, he didn't know what it was between them, but dear God he loved it.

xxx

**Oh, so Chance does like Ilsa...who ever would have thought? Nice little teaser for you there. Will they or won't they? That seems to be the burning question with us Human Target fans! Fun fact about this Human Target fan: I didn't watch season one, I wasn't a fan until season two. I kept asking my Dad about it until finally he told me to watch it. He loves the show and got me addicted to it! Thank God! **

**Who is our favorite character? Guerrero, of course, he rocks! Plain and simple. Oh and his tacklebox, who can forget the legendary tacklebox-yea I know it was only in for one season but let's face it, it's legendary now!**

**And if they get picked up for season three-which the chances are looking really good right now-I hope, for the love of all that is good and holy in this world,they put Mark in more button up shirts. He's hot in them! Okay so he's hot anyway, but still!**

**Hope you enjoyed the final chapter of my first completed multi-chapter Human Target fic! **

**Love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


	8. Lunch

_Sunday Afteroon, 12:45 P.M. _

Ilsa stretched languidly, breathing deeply as her muscles relaxed and the tiredness that had settled in the tense, knotted muscles slowly left. Three nights spent in the bed of one's business partner-especially when said business partner was as delicious as one Christopher Chance-did a body good and the hot shower with the delicious smelling soap had left her feeling relaxed and refreshed. She felt ready for one more night of hard sleeping before returning to her normal Monday morning routine.

The tangy scent of tomatoes and the fresh scent of basil made her smile as she made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen where Chance was concentrating on whatever was in the pot on the stove. Managing a peek over his shoulder from her vantage point, she spotted a box of dry pasta sitting beside a piece of paper, a knife and several tomato stems.

"Tortellini?" Ilsa teased as she made her way over to the counter.

Chance grinned as he stirred the contents of the pot, "I figured we could try it, since I seem to think it's part of an opera instead of Italian dishes."

"It smells good." Ilsa smiled as she padded over to the fridge and opened it up. Scanning the contents, she came up with a cold bottle of vodka, two bottles of tequila and a bottle of champagne. She reached for the champagne but opted out and grabbed the vodka and a bottle of the tequila instead. Grinning playfully, she held them up for Chance to see, "Which one would you rather I steal from Guerrero?"

"Tequila." Chance laughed as she put the vodka back. "You are aware it's not even one in the afternoon yet?"

"Alcohol is alcohol no matter what time you drink it-still makes you do things you never thought you would." Ilsa laughed as she grabbed two glasses and set them on the counter. She opened the bottle and poured the amber liquid into the glasses.

"Oh?" Chance grinned playfully, turning to her as she held a glass out to him. "Do things you never thought would?"

"If not for the sodium thiopental and rum in my system, I don't think I would have had the courage to kiss you. That pleasantly buzzed feeling can make you do crazy things." Ilsa told him. She tossed the tequila shot back with the ease of someone with experience.

Not wanting to seem like a chicken, he quickly shot his back and stirred the contents of the pot while Ilsa poured them another drink. Pleasantly buzzed was nowhere near close to what she was when they had kissed-but if she was going to delude herself, than who was he to stop it.

"I called your sister-in-law," Chance blurted out before he could stop himself. And there it was, the liquid courage taking effect-and quick too.

"Oh?" Ilsa questioned, shooting back her tequila. "And how was that conversation?"

"Angry." Chance told her, "She's uh not to happy with you right now."

"No, what she is, is upset because she thinks I've moved on from Marshall." Ilsa shook her head, "She thinks that by burying me in charity work, she'll drag me away from here and more importantly, she'll drag me away from you."

Chance looked over at her and couldn't help but notice that she almost looked sad. She had just recovered from an emotional meltdown and here she was on the verge of another one. Ilsa was a very good friend-bordering on being one of his best friends and he had discovered that he wanted to kill anyone who upset her, despite the fact that she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

"Don't let her get to you." Chance told her as he grabbed two plates from the cabinet. "She's just looking out for you."

"I have you for that now," Ilsa pointed as she put the cap back on the tequila bottle before anything more could happen. "I don't need my nosy sister-in-law, who lives halfway around the world trying to protect me."

"Ilsa," Chance muttered as he set the plates down and turned to her. "Hey, you know I'm not really fond of Connie right now just because our conversation was less than friendly but that doesn't mean I want you turning on her."

"I turned on her after the opera. She wants me out of here-she doesn't care what the board thinks." Ilsa told him quietly. "She doesn't want me associated with someone like you-it's bad for the Pucci name. What I want to know is why she thinks her brother was such a saint?"

Chance had never once heard Ilsa say anything bad about Marshall Pucci until now. She seemed to truly love her late husband but his involvement in the underground illegal dealings in his charity had dampened her view of her husband and she was less than impressed by it.

"Maybe she's still grieving over his death?" Chance offered, shrugging as he turned the stove off.

Ilsa shook her head, "No but she expects me to grieve. She never grieved over his death. She's never shown emotion over his death. She acts like it doesn't bother her."

"You shouldn't be expected to grieve any longer than most people do." Chance told her as he spooned some pasta onto the plates. "How long it takes you to grieve is your business, she can't expect it to be any more or any less than how long she or anyone else grieved."

"Sometimes I think you know me better than she does." Ilsa muttered, looking up at him, "Why is that?"

"We're friends-who don't live half a world away from each other." Chance chuckled softly as he handed her a plate. "Eat up."

Ilsa laughed as she took the plate and fork and made her way into the lobby area of the office. She settled on a couch with Chance quickly settling in beside her, a plate of food in his hand. They ate lunch in relative silence, only sharing looks when a certain move would make them brush against each other.

"I think we both know we have to talk about this morning," Ilsa pointed out quietly as she stabbed a piece of the tortellini with her fork. She set the fork down as she found her appetite suddenly disappearing.

"I know." Chance nodded as he pushed his plate away before turning to her. "Listen Ilsa, if you want to just forget about it-"

Before he could even get another word in she had grabbed the collar of his button down shirt and crashed her lips against his. His hands wrapped around her hips as the initial shock wore off and he actually responded to the kiss. One of his hands trailed up her back and knotted in her soft black hair as she gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. As her body pressed into his and her lips ravaged his, he had only one thought.

Life was good.

xxx

**Bold move, Ilsa! I had no intention of her attacking him like that but I watched 'The Trouble with Harry' a few too many times and the kiss was just freaking hot so I wanted some hotness like that kiss! Oh and random thing, in a couple of episodes, I noticed that when Chance is protecting her, he puts his hands on her hips and pushes her away before turning to put her behind him. Her hips seem to be the thing he likes most about her-well that and apparently her lips. **

**I was watching the WonderCon video where Mark Valley and Matt Miller talk about Chance and Ilsa's relationship and Matt Miller rambles about how they may not put Chance and Ilsa together (I'm praying that he listens to the fans and not his pig-head!) Anyway, at the end, Mark looks at the camera, grins a mischievous, playful grin and says something like "...He only made out with her once.." **

**Just the way he said that indicates that maybe, he thinks one hot, steamy makeout session isn't enough to determine how he feels about her? Now Mark, if you want Chance and Ilsa to makeout, just tell us, I bet if we write Matt Miller enough, he'll make it happen! LOL!**

**Love you forevah, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove **


	9. Talk

The need for oxygen pulled them apart but even as they panted and gasped for air, they still couldn't pull away completely. She let her head drop to his shoulder as they both gasped for air. He moved his hands up to her back and chuckled at what had just happened on the couch. Once she realized she was still almost completely on top of him, she pulled away and settled back into the couch. Oh yes, she had most definitely moved way past "impressive."

"I'll take that as a no." Chance laughed as he looked over at her. "I've never had a woman attack me before."

"I can't say I've ever attacked anyone like that." Ilsa blushed as she lowered her eyes.

"I never said I didn't like it." Chance grinned easily as he stared over at her. "And apparently I'm not the only one who liked it."

"I did it, didn't I?" Ilsa retorted sarcastically, glaring at him playfully. "I have to say, Mr. Chance, you really are an exceptional kisser."

He grinned cockily as he stared at her through dark blue eyes, "You would know too wouldn't you?"

"Why must you be so infuriating?" Ilsa questioned, obviously frustrated with his infuriating cockiness. While it was admittedly sexy, it was also infuriating and frustrating, to the point where she either wanted to kiss or slap that cocky little grin right off of his face.

"Didn't know I was." Chance laughed, "Thought I was an exceptional kisser."

"Yes you did." Ilsa growled angrily, "You know you're infuriating."

"Actually, until you told me I had no idea. Is that why you attacked me?" Chance teased her as he grinned cockily once again. He was really way to good at the stupid little cocky grin that would drive any normal woman out of her mind. "Or was there some other reason?"

Tears stung her eyes as she stood up, grabbed their plates and made her way into the kitchen. He stared at the empty place on the couch beside him before getting up and chasing after her. He found her in the kitchen struggling to keep herself from having another meltdown.

"I'm sorry," Chance muttered as he walked over to her, "I'm sorry, Ilsa."

"I don't know why I attacked you like that." Ilsa muttered as she wiped her eyes, "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"For doing something we both enjoyed?" Chance laughed softly, "I don't know about you but I could go for a repeat?"

"Maybe without the attacking this time." Ilsa chuckled softly, "Chance, I don't know what I feel for you."

"Well you're not alone there," Chance laughed quietly, "I have no idea what I feel for you."

"Good to know." Ilsa laughed, "So what does this mean for us?"

"It means that we discover it together." Chance told her, uncharacteristically tender. "And maybe enjoy a few of the benefits of knowing that we feel something other than friendship for one another."

"What benefits?" Ilsa asked coyly, already knowing full well exactly what benefits he was talking about.

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her closer before leaning down, "This."

She sighed as he closed the distance between them, effectively cutting off any reply she might have had. She found herself incapable of coherent thought as he pressed her against the counter, molding his body against hers in much the same way she had done to him not minutes before.

They didn't know where they were going-although their lips would be intimately acquainted with each other by the time they got there-and it would probably take a while to get to wherever they were going but they both knew that they'd get there somehow together. For now though, well they had more important things to attend to.

Kissing.

xxx

**Woohoo! Finished chapter eight and wrote chapter nine all in the same night! I'm on a roll! Yea so I know, it doesn't really wrap it up all that well but like I said, I keep getting inspiration for this story so who knows, this may be the end or it may not be..my muse seems to enjoy this story so we'll see. **

**They seem a little OC, but let's face it, it was OC the first time she kissed him so it'll probably be OC to everyone who writes them together. LOL! **

**So on another random sidenote, I'm going on a three day roadtrip in May but I'm taking my computer with me so I won't be completely gone, I'm just not sure how good the Wi-Fi at the hotel's going to be, so don't hold your breath! **

**Review, please? **

**Love you Angels, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


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